The next morning, Blac sat parked outside the gated subdivision, where he believed Senator Tyler Stevens lived.
He found the man’s home address early this morning after searching the Internet for better than two and a half hours.
Last night, Blac had carried Theresa out to the car and sped her to the nearest emergency room.
There, the doctor told him that she had not been raped, only badly beaten. She had a mild concussion, bad bruising, a very fine facial fracture that would heal on its own, but no major breaks.
The doctor said they would bandage her up and release her later in the day with pain medication, and that Blac should expect her to have a full recovery.
That was at 1:30 a.m.
Afterward, Blac walked out to the parking lot, his cell phone to his ear, listening as his phone rang the number he had dialed.
“I knew my little visit would get your attention,” Cutty said. “Got my money, yet?”
“What the fuck is wrong with you? I owe you the money. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with this.”
“Your ass wasn’t around, so we did what we needed. But be grateful, Blac. Your girl got a nice, fat ass, and Bones was really wantin’ to fuck that. I held him off this time, but next—”
“Won’t be no next time, okay. I’m gonna have your money, but I need one more day.”
“Aw, Blac. Isn’t this how all of this shit started?”
“I’m gonna need one more day!” Blac yelled into the phone. “Haven’t you done enough? Give me the goddamn day so I can get your money and we can be done.”
There was silence on the phone. Blac held it worriedly up to his ear, waiting.
“You know what?” Cutty finally said. “Okay. Fine. But we found the cutest little thing when we was in your girl’s house. On the fridge, there was a letter with a picture.”
Blac froze, the phone to his ear.
“You got a sister and a little nephew in Racine, Wisconsin, don’t you?”
“Motherfucker, don’t you even think—”
“Told you, bitch. Don’t tell me what to think. You have my money by tomorrow, or me and two of my boys gonna come back and fuck your girl so bad, all the thread in the world won’t sew that pussy back up. And if you still ain’t got my loot, we gonna take a little trip out to the address on this letter and make this a family affair. Clock is tickin’, motherfucker,” Cutty said, then disconnected the call.
Now, sitting behind the wheel of Theresa’s Chevy, Blac watched as a Lexus LS 430 pulled out of the gate of the subdivision. He had gotten a good look at the driver and saw that it was indeed Tyler Stevens.
Blac started the car, stepped on the gas, and sped up the quiet, residential two-lane street. In seconds, he overtook the Lexus, cut the wheel hard to the right, and swerved in front of the big car.
The tires of both cars squealed as the vehicles screeched to a halt, and Blac was quickly up out of his car, his door hanging open, as he ran toward the driver’s side of the Lexus.
As Blac approached the car, he heard the power locks engage, and saw as the driver’s side window rolled up the last inch and sealed completely.
“Open the door! I gotta talk to you,” Blac yelled at the window.
Tyler looked frightened, cowering away from the door. “Who are you?”
Blac reached into his back pocket, pulled out the single, extremely graphic photo of Cobi and Tyler having sex, slapped it up against the window so the man inside could see, and said, “This is who I am. Now open the fucking door!”